


Embedded

by wynnesome



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Boners, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oblivious Pining, Outtakes, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 03:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15742935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnesome/pseuds/wynnesome
Summary: That gulf across the mattress felt wider every night. Tony wasright there, so close, soft and sleeping just a couple of feet away.





	Embedded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverInStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverInStars/gifts).



> This is what happens when you think, “Oh! There should be some bed-sharing in the long fic I’m working on!” And proceed to get wholly caught up in writing it, even though you’re not nearly to that point in writing the main story yet. And you _know_ that by the time you get there, the details will have evolved, and the scene won’t even go like this anymore. BUT, now you’ve written almost 5k, and… maybe you should do something with it?
> 
> The problem with it existing within the framework of a larger fic is that, even with an opening section setting it up, I feel like this needs some explanation for context. For that reason, I really debated posting it. BUT… the very dear [SilverInStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverInStars) was terribly enabling and wonderfully encouraging. So this is for her. <3
> 
> So here is some relevant background:
> 
> The main fic is timeline-divergent MCU, set between IM2 and Avengers 1. There is no Avengers team yet. Tony is much younger, only 25. Steve is recovered from the ice about a year earlier than canon. He’s living with Tony at the Tower, and also doing covert missions for SHIELD on the side. Tony is still flying solo as Iron Man, and is not involved with these missions. Steve is dealing with severe depression. He’s in therapy, and at this point, a few months post-ice, he is making progress, but all is not fine and dandy. 
> 
> Steve and Tony have become friends, and they hang out and enjoy each other's company the evenings they're both home. However, Steve is insecure about Tony liking him for himself rather than as Captain America, and Tony is insecure about Steve liking him as a person, rather than a provider. They both have a lot to deal with, and between that and their insecurities, they're both very slow in realizing that they are beginning to feel attraction-slash-"more than friendship" for one another. As can be typical for Steves and Tonys, they both have a hard time working out their own feelings, much less communicating with one another!
> 
> Steve, in dealing with his grief and depression, uses his art -- drawing and also photography -- to "hold onto" bits of reality and memories. The evenings he and Tony spend time together, he always likes to take a selfie of the two of them. Though unacknowledged, it becomes a regular moment of closeness they both enjoy, when they're shoulder-to-shoulder to fit into the frame of the camera.
> 
> In the main fic, the Argentina mission (mentioned at the end of this outtake) is something that becomes very significant. Whatever version of this scene eventually comes about will probably not take place right before that mission, but it made a good reference point to end this version.
> 
> Finally, even though this ends on a low note, it’s a temporary misunderstanding, and our boys _will_ get it worked out!

Tony stood; the night was ending too soon, and Steve dreaded another turn of the long, dark hours, alone with his thoughts, his memories, and his nightmares.

“Steve… you, uh, look a little worried. I can stick around a while longer, if you want?”

Of course he _wanted._ Tony was always too perceptive, and he never used the words “are you ok?” but no matter how much Steve would rather have his presence close by, he couldn’t begrudge him enough time for a few hours of sleep before he had to be up for SI business. Tony made him feel… like he was part of something, their own little team of two, even though he knew that was more on his side of things. Regardless, Steve was a grown man, and even if not his favorite part of the day, he could cope with a few hours of his own company without a handler, or a babysitter, or a security blanket.

He straightened from his comfortable slump against the back of the couch, and put on as much smile as he could. They’d both know it was faked, but part of their friendship was that knowing without saying.

“Thanks, Tony. You go ahead -- get your rest.” He gripped his knees hard, letting it lock his elbows and push his shoulders up.

Tony was looking at him with the sideways head-tilt that said Ideas were speeding through that multi-processor he called a brain, even if he’d end up saying none or few of them. Tonight, he shared one.

“You know, if you’re tired, you could just come on to bed, crash in my room. I’m just gonna be sleeping, but--” he shrugged. “--I can tuck you in, minus the kiss goodnight.” He grinned, and it pulled a truer one out of Steve.

He thought of hearing Tony in the dark, the small life signs that made up friend, order, safe. Even when it was lie, and the night would burst into garish explosions, deafening and sometimes bloody, the illusion had been a comfort, and sometimes a truth. Tony’s offer called out and tempted him, a string tugging, and his legs ready to stand and follow, but… he knew he couldn’t, he really shouldn’t, impose upon Tony that way.

He made himself flatten his palms on his knees. Relaxed. He was fine. They’d both see through this, too, but sometimes having the fortitude to fake it was what showed you were solid to tough it out.

“That’s really nice of you, but it’s ok. I’m good.”

“You sure? Offer’s open. C’mon, nothing weird about it. My bed’s huge. It’d be like sharing a hotel room, just with no floor in between.”

The curve of his beckoning arm looked so welcoming. And that was Tony’s show; he’d figure out what you wanted, and then offer it like you’d be doing him a favor. By that count, Steve had done Tony a long list of favors.

Just this once then.  And if it seemed like he was disturbing Tony at all, he’d take himself right out.

**______**

He had to admit, Tony made it easy. He’d chivvied Steve down to his own floor to pick up anything he needed -- “...whatever you want to wear, or not, whatever’s comfortable, I’m good in a t-shirt and sweats, but I don’t have anything your size,” he’d rattled off, smoothly working in the note that he didn’t sleep in the nude. Steve felt his cheeks heat at the idea of sleeping naked next to Tony; sharing a big bed didn’t make him uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t be polite to be unclothed, and he usually slept only shirtless, in shorts or sweats, anyway.

Meeting Steve back at the entry to his penthouse, Tony had ushered him down the hall to the bedroom, stopped to grab a pair of navy sweatpants from a dresser drawer, and showed him to the ensuite; by the time Steve was closing the door, Tony had already been stripping off his jeans with no trace of self-consciousness.

When Steve emerged, Tony pointed out his own side of the bed -- obvious as it’d been anyway with the tablet and charging cables atop the nightstand -- folded back the covers, and headed into the bathroom himself.

Even invited, Steve did feel a little fluttery about getting into bed first, so to the sound of running water, he pulled the voluminous pillow behind his back and leaned, very well cushioned, against the headboard, crossing his legs and fiddling with his phone. No different, or at least not too much, from lounging on the couch while he waited for Tony to get home, or finish a call.

Tony came out of the bathroom with his face pink and damp and his hair finger-combed back. He smiled softly as he slid into bed and pulled the covers up to his chest, gesturing for Steve to lie down. So Steve did, unfolded his legs and scooted down under the blanket. He’d probably have it thrown off by the time he woke, but it was nice to start off cozied in. The mattress was firm, the sheets were cool and smooth, and he had plenty of room to stretch out, pulling his body tight and releasing the tension, breathing deep.

He was surprisingly at ease as he watched Tony tap a couple of things on the tablet and set it back down, then make a soft request to JARVIS for a 5:15 alarm. He glanced over at Steve, asking, “Lights?” and when Steve replied, “Go ahead,” he continued, “Ten percent, please, J,” and the soft white light faded to blue-black.

“NightCap.” Sounding both closer and further away in the near-dark, Tony left him with what had become the traditional closing of their evenings. It was trite, and campy, and a token Steve tucked away in an imagined treasure box with the others, like chips of shiny stone.

“Night, Tony. Sleep tight.” Smiling to himself, Steve rolled over facing away, and heard Tony punch his pillow a couple of times, and his soft shuffling and snuffling, the little creaks of the mattress, and his breaths lengthening as Steve drowsed off.

**______**

The morning had been equally as unceremonious. JARVIS had chimed the alarm with gradually increasing volume, and they rose, exchanging hushed “Good mornings,” Tony’s containing significantly fewer letters. Steve came to alertness quickly, with a roll of his shoulders and a hand through his hair, and while he’d seen Tony pre-coffee, he’d never seen him immediately post-waking before. He was even more endearingly groggy, complete with eye-rubbing, muttery four-and-more-letter grumbles, and absent scratching at his chest and his balls.

It was about the time Steve liked to go for a run -- assuming he’d managed sleep and hadn’t set out when it was rightfully still more middle of the night than early morning -- but he was pleasantly surprised by how soundly he’d slept, and he was ready to hit the pavement and get his energy flowing.

He shrugged into his t-shirt and spoke Tony’s name a couple of times, and when he had what his attention currently amounted to, let him know, “Hey, I’m gonna head out for a run.” As Tony waved him off with a boneless arm, he added, “...and, thank you. This was nice. I slept great.” 

That got him a clear smile and the clearest words yet. “Glad to hear it, Cap, c’mon over anytime.” 

Steve smiled back, his heart sunnier than most mornings, and padded off, still barefoot, shoes in hand and toes sinking into the thick carpet, and that was it.

**______**

“Anytime” came to mean any night they were both home and sleeping; sometimes Steve was out on SHIELD business; sometimes Tony was on a business trip. Sometimes Tony spent the night in the lab, or Steve in the gym. So it averaged out about the same as their usual movie-pizza-gabfest evenings already had anyway: three or four in a good week, and a couple or sometimes just one if things were busier. The extension of those nights became another kindness Tony did for him, and made a real dent in his lonely hours and private tears. The partings were much closer to painless in the mornings, even if he couldn’t figure out how to work his selfies into the new routine.

**______**

This was why it should have been just the once. A few weeks ago he’d been longing, and then so grateful, for exactly what he had right this minute, and now that he had it, all he could do was want more. _Selfish, greedy_ , Steve flagellated himself.

That gulf across the mattress felt wider every night. Tony was _right there_ , so close, soft and sleeping just a couple of feet away. Faced toward Steve, hair dark and tousled on the pillow, he lay outlined under the covers pulled up to his chin, resting mostly on his stomach, with a knee bent up and an arm loosely extended.

Too close for not close enough to be borne.

Steve felt stuttery with it, his heart taking a little extra lub with every beat, his chest hollowed out, not because he couldn’t breathe, but having no lungs left. Hollower than that. Spread thin, more space between than substance. A sheet of paper that’d been erased.

He rolled from his back onto his side, trying to keep it slow and smooth. Tony needed his sleep. But he stirred. 

“Stttvvv, goslpppp,” he mumbled, patting the mattress blindly.

Steve was drifting apart, losing touch with himself, like the blanket above and the sheet below were the only things that told him where his body ended. He just, if he could just be next to Tony, it would hold him together. He wanted to measure his warmth at the source, count the rate of his rise and fall while resting against him. He lay still, locked in a quiet madness of indecision, a battle of knowing what he needed, and an unspoken rule against asking.

Desperate, sick, he groped and found his phone on the nightstand, and the safest question he knew. It came out a hoarse whisper.

“Tony... ?“ He fumbled through the lock-screen and it lit up with its muted glow, like a baby cousin to Tony’s reactor. It seemed to rouse Tony just a little. Steve hadn’t meant to… he had, but… he shouldn’t have.

“Whoyacall’n, sweetheart?”

Steve almost sobbed. Where had that come from? Tony didn’t say things like that to him. He must still be half asleep, dreaming of someone else in his bed. 

He started again. “Tony...“ It was a plea, please let me, please don’t make me ask, please don’t turn me away, please… His voice was shaking. “...can I have a...s-self-fie?”

**______**

It registered, pulling Tony out of the soft float of half-sleep.  Steve’s voice, distress. ...selfie? In bed, in middle of the night? 

It hit him, what a selfie meant, what came with it.  “Steve, honey, ‘f you really wanna selfie, sure, but maybe, why don’t you put the phone away and c’mon over here?” He wasn’t really wide awake, and it was all slow and slurred, in this place where library voices would be too loud.

There was nothing for a few seconds and Tony started to doze again, drift back down. Then felt the mattress dip and the blankets pull, and then Steve was next to him, bumping up against him so awkward and contorted, finding points of contact without any try at making them fit together.

Tony reached up to pat at the huddled-up lump of shoulder, bare-skinned and cooler to the touch than his sleep-bundled self. Steve’s exhale was audible, not enough pitch for a moan, but too much for a no-sound.

Oh, Steve really needed this. Why had he never asked? _The same reason you never offered_ , himself answered. _You didn’t know if_. There was no need to finish the thought beyond that point. It encompassed everything.

He was awake now, relaxed but aware, senses heightened even once he opened his eyes.

He straightened out and draped himself along Steve’s side, wriggling and scooching and nudging, trying to arrange his big body into a shape that could interlock. This time it was a moan, and Steve was finally working with him, shuffling his legs, figuring out which knee to bend and arm to tuck, and then they were wrapped together, chest to chest.  Ahhh, this was so nice. Steve was thick and solid, settled in and clinging, with his hands spread across Tony’s back. With his top arm draped over, Tony pet down his ribs and into the dip below, gaining confidence and appreciating the breadth of him.

Steve shivered, and whether or not it was from cold, Tony pulled up the blanket, which had slipped down around their waists. He tucked it in around them, making a safe, secret space, and found another for his head under Steve’s chin, breathing the concentrated scent, listening to the blood beat in his neck. His hand slid around, back and up, bristling into the short hairs, and he _felt_ the heat rise in Steve’s skin, and the shudder ripple across. He stroked behind his ear and up over the curve of it, and again; trailed down to the corner of his jaw that set so firmly in determination as in pain; rubbed his thumb along the corded tendons of his throat. Touched and touched, and poured care into him.

He didn’t even know how to describe the sounds Steve was making now, deep and rumbling, something between a hum and a growl, too broken to be a purr. “S’okay, s’okay, babe, take your selfie, take another one. S’many as you like,” he promised, murmuring into his neck.

He’d never loved someone like this, wanting so fiercely to give and give, to bring comfort and solace and peace.

He pulled back just enough to see Steve’s face, and kept with the delicate touches, tracing along his hairline and brushing the backs of his fingers along the paths of his brows, a gentle urging to soften the squeeze of his eyes and loosen the furrow between them. Smoothed down his cheekbone and Steve turned into his hand, and maybe Tony felt the flutter of lips against his palm.

It panged up his arm and across his chest, a burst of fireworks that opened and sparkled, raining down a volley of tiny arrows. Every one struck true.

**______**

Steve woke warm, to softness and hardness:

Tony’s eyes and his crooked smile, leaning with his chin propped on one hand, the other leaving trails tingling as he played with Steve’s hair.

“G’mornin’, Steve--”

Steve’s cock, full and insistent against his own thigh, and something digging uncomfortably into his hip. 

His eyes slammed back shut and his breath hitched. He felt the rest of his blood flooding into his face and pulsing in his temples, burning, even as he froze in place.

The stroking of Tony’s hand hesitated and then lifted away, and his senses wanted to chase it, but he kept still, the easier to pretend he’d removed himself.

“--whoa, what happened, what’s wrong?” Tony’s voice was dark and raspy, and it did things inside him that had nothing to do with his dick, its tenor a counterpoint to the bright lines he’d been fingerpainting along Steve’s scalp.

He felt trapped there, too torn to move, but miserable. He shouldn’t feel like his body had betrayed him. It was a regular morning thing, just, when he kept to his side of Tony’s bed, much more easily concealed. He’d been so set on flinging himself at Tony last night that he hadn’t thought about it. He wouldn’t have allowed himself, otherwise.

And it’d been so _good_. He hoarded the memory and didn’t want to give it back, but to have ruined it like this, when Tony had been so gracious, indulging yet another of Steve’s ridiculous hang-ups...

He bent an arm up over his eyes, an extra layer to hide behind. How long had Tony been up, and was that what had woken him, separating himself from Steve’s inappropriate response?

The mattress shifted. “Steve?” Tony asked again, higher and more uncertain.

Steve groaned. Yeah, Tony probably already knew, anyway. “Sorry, I, uh, um, morning… thing… didn’t mean to… uh. Sorry.” Heat flared in his face anew, and thankfully, if only because of the stress, the unwanted erection was subsiding.

“Oh, hey, that.” Tony laughed lightly. “Don’t even worry yourself. It’s normal. Doesn’t mean a thing.”

He lifted his arm just enough to crack one eye open, and located Tony sitting cross-legged next to him, hands hanging in his lap. He was always adorable in the morning, rumpled and pillow-creased, the lines of his goatee blurred with faint stubble, but it held something different this morning, protective and possessive. He’d slept in Steve’s arms last night, with that beard resting at Steve’s collarbone and his breath puffing into Steve’s neck.

A little of the tension eased out of him, but he let his eye fall back shut with another groan, not quite ready to face whatever might have changed overnight. Even if he hadn’t disgusted Tony with his dick.

“Ok, well, it’s really no big deal, but I’ll just… uh, gotta, right back.” Tony’s weight lifted from the mattress and a few seconds later, the bathroom door clicked shut.

Steve sighed, letting out his breath and rooting for the thing under his backside, and coming up with… his phone? Out of habit, he swiped it open, and the screen brought up a pale blur filling half the frame, a selfie of... his elbow, maybe. Great, that was a moment to memorialize. He shut off the phone without bothering to delete the image, keeping it clenched in his grip.

He wanted to go back to last night. To the vivid weight of Tony’s wiry, lean body, pushing and pulling at Steve to show him how they meshed, folding in and offering Steve  exactly what he hadn’t known it was ok to ask for.

And God, the way Tony had touched him, it shimmered over him, a ghostly breeze stirring just the tips of his tiny hairs, just thinking about it, like Tony had been pouring his soul into Steve, like Steve was one of his precious plates of metal, empty and inert till Tony’s knowing hands shaped and coaxed its potential to life. He hadn’t known Tony cared for him like that. Or maybe it was just the darkness, and no different from any of the other ways Tony had shown his generosity and made sure his needs were met. Day to day, his certainties flipped and faltered; first sure of one thing, and then equally as much the other, and it all seemed so fragile and nebulous to judge.

The train of thought reached its terminal, and he felt the growing press of what he’d set aside encroaching on his mind, the reason he’d been so shamefully needy last night. The Argentina assignment. He flew out later today.

Tony was taking a while in the bathroom, and it was probably better if Steve was gone by the time he was done. He'd given him the out, and Steve should take it. He knew Tony put up convincing fronts, and there was no need to make him play off the awkwardness any further.

He’d felt so light and sweet last night, but he’d already burned it off. His shoulders were a colossal weight, and one long, effortful pull from his core to raise them felt like a full workout. He forced himself off the bed and put his feet back on the ground, weary and low, like the high of a win wearing off after a long mission.

Peeled away from the blankets’ stored-up warmth, his skin pebbled up, and he picked up his t-shirt, wishing for once for a loose hoodie like one of Tony’s. Decided bare was better for now than the bind of fabric, and just let the air blend in with him. Hunched up his shoulders like they were something to wrap around himself, and headed out.

He heard the bathroom door open and his name rising like a question from behind him, but he didn’t turn around to see what might show on Tony’s face.

**______**

Tony woke easy and mellow, with a third leg in his sweatpants. Nothing unusual any given morning, so no reason to wonder at it, waking engulfed in the warm embrace of his best friend. Hmmm, hadn’t brought any rebar to bed though, so that length at his thigh was definitely Steve, full mast in the same boat. More surprising if he wasn’t, though, Steve being physically prime, and dicks being dicks. 

The real surprise was Steve still fast asleep. Tony didn’t have to be at the office today, so he hadn’t set an alarm, but Steve rarely slept in, usually off with the dawn, if not earlier. Rousing in this delicious tangle was a  treat. Steve’s chiseled curves, his deep, even breathing, and the baritone beat of his heart were more decadent than a luxurious pillowtop, a heated massage chair, and a meditation soundtrack all in one. Tony gave himself a minute more to wallow, then regretfully shifted his hips away. As far as he was concerned, he was pretty much shameless, but Steve might be more easily embarrassed or even disgusted by an awkward boner encounter, and he didn’t want to risk it.

Especially when it had been clear that the comfort Steve so needfully sought held no sexual intimations.

He ignored his erection and propped himself on his elbow, looking down at Steve’s face, finally smoothed of his cares. He really was beautiful.

The way Steve had turned to him in the night, the rawness of his need, had startled Tony, and so had the intensity of his own response. Suffused with tenderness, he reached with his free hand to gently brush the fine, golden hair away from Steve’s forehead. The feathery strands twining between his fingertips drew him to linger. Somewhere amidst the repetitive motion, Steve’s eyes blinked awake, wide and clear blue, and for a moment, he smiled up at Tony.

It set him aglow like the big bonus power-up before beating the final game boss on expert.

“G’mornin’, Steve--”

And the big guy drained him to zero after the first move, only this was life, and there wasn’t a level-restart.

 _What the hell…?_ He felt as much as saw Steve go rigid, locking up and shrinking away.

“--whoa, what happened, what’s wrong?”

Tony recognized a “wish I could disappear” reaction when he saw one, but _why…?_ At a loss, he jerked his hand away mid-stroke. Sudden anxiety spiked his pulse too fast and his breaths short and choppy. Fuck-all if he knew what he’d done, just that he’d ruined it, somehow.

Steve covered his face with his arm, as if he could shut Tony out even further, and Tony pulled back to sit, keeping his hands restrained in his lap.

“Steve?” he ventured again, sounding plaintive and uncertain, even to his own ears. He didn’t expect it when Steve groaned and responded, with a string of nervous babble that reminded Tony more of himself.

“Sorry, I, uh, um, morning… thing… didn’t mean to… uh. Sorry.”

Relief dumped like an acid neutralizer. Really, it was just that? Not to make light of Steve’s upset, but… he could handle this.

“Oh, hey, that.” Tony laughed lightly, if still a little forced. “Don’t even worry yourself. It’s normal. Doesn’t mean a thing.” No point to adding any extra complications by mentioning he’d woken in the same state. Thank goodness he’d disengaged, if Steve was freaking out this hard -- _oops, way to go, word choice --_ just because of the morning wood.

Steve shifted his arm aside and cracked an eye at him, and Tony thought he’d salvaged it. But Steve closed back down and groaned again, and it wasn’t ok. Tony’s innards shriveled. He’d done a shitty job on the reassuring, go figure, and probably should try applying maturity -- go with “giving space” and all that. Get out of Steve’s face and stop trying to help, before he made things any worse.

“Ok, well, it’s really no big deal, but I’ll just… uh, gotta, right back.” He jerked his thumb at the bathroom door, stupid when Steve wouldn’t even see him, but whatever.

He slunk off to contain himself in the bathroom, did his business, and tarried in hot, soapy hand-wringing at the sink long enough he could be scrubbing for surgery.

The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him that this wasn’t just about Steve waking up with a hard-on. Steve had seemed to be drinking in his touch so ardently last night, and he’d been so sure he’d read his reactions right, but it’d been spontaneous cuddling, not explicit consent, and now he wondered if he’d gone too far and made Steve think he was coming onto him, and, just, fuuuuck, you couldn’t let him out around people, look what happened...

Disappointment pierced him. He’d woken up so content, and he’d wanted to tell Steve good morning and invite him back into his arms for a snuggle, keep feeding him affection in sweet morsels straight from his hands… _so selfish,Tony Stark..._

Stop making it about _him_ , though, and there was still something to this. He still didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it. Whatever Steve hadn’t wanted or had gotten too much of from Tony himself, now that Tony thought about it, it was almost inevitable that Steve was starved for some degree of human contact.

Sorrow and shame sank into his stomach again. He knew how lonely and dislocated Steve had been, and that nothing about his SHIELD ops, constantly rotating him in and out of different teams, provided any close camaraderie.

A cheeseburger didn’t fill Steve up at lunch, and a pint of milk didn’t slake his thirst. Sure, he and Steve had gotten to the point where they shared space and habitually exchanged friendly touches, but if it were like Steve-and-anything-else, normal portions didn’t apply.

Tony’d gotten used to saving it up, but he also knew how a little taste could linger, keeping you hungry for more.

Super-soldier metabolism… he could remember, and make sure to do better. If Steve were still speaking to him, if he hadn’t scared him away completely.

On the other hand, Steve might have latched on to the only source of social companionship he had, and then realized -- _who could blame him?_ \-- that Tony wasn’t someone he wanted to be closer to in that way. After Tony had hung all over him last night, of course Steve was embarrassed and repulsed, and worried his “morning thing” would give exactly the wrong impression.

A full three minutes of tooth-brushing let him drag things out a little longer, but now Tony had delayed as long as he could unless he was going to hide in the bathroom the rest of the day, which, no. He was all about avoidance, but not with this. Steve mattered too much. He deserved his best effort. Despite the drab, moth-winged feeling that stood in for butterflies, he was ready to do his utmost to verbally communicate, apologize, whatever it took.

He opened the door just in time to see Steve skulking out of the bedroom, hunched into himself like the night together had done him more harm than good. “Steve...?” he called, hopeless and futile. He knew Steve could hear him, but he kept walking without turning back.

Tony dropped his butt to the bed and slumped, heartworn. He wanted to chase Steve down, barrel into him, and beg forgiveness, but held himself back, barely. Maybe Steve would feel better after a run; maybe he’d come find him in the lab at lunchtime. He promised himself, if he hadn’t seen him by then, he’d track him down.

It was going to gnaw at him every second till he did, already had his nerves agitating to a countdown. He couldn’t stand leaving things like this -- _had_ to find a way to get them back on better footing -- before Steve took off later today for that job in Argentina. It sounded like a serious one.

**Author's Note:**

> Title note:  
> The eventual big fic uses photography as a major theme, and photography-related terms as chapter titles. Even though this is an “outtake,” I still gave it a relevant title. 
> 
> “Embedded” refers to embedded journalism -- wherein reporters and/or photographers are attached to military units involved in armed conflicts. [Definition paraphrased from Wikipedia.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Embedded_journalism)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Special Correspondence (The Inbedded Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893208) by [Veldeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldeia/pseuds/Veldeia)




End file.
